


Fuck The Gym

by donnatella



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: (like a lot of fucking swearing), F/M, Fluff, Mochi the Cat - Freeform, ShipGrumps, Sushi, Swearing, exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 12:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donnatella/pseuds/donnatella
Summary: Arin kind of fucking hates the gym. It’s either too warm or too fucking cold, all the equipment stinks to high heaven, and there’s always all these people around who are clearly better at exercising than he is. It sucks big sweaty balls—another reason to hate the gym. He’s pretty sure you could drown a cat in how much he sweated today.Of course, there’s plenty of reasons to go to the gym: being healthy, getting in shape, the really cute girl who’s usually on the treadmills by the weights when he’s here, y’know. The usual reasons.(Alternately titled: Getting Hot and Bothered, and Not in the Fun Way)





	Fuck The Gym

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dontcareajot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcareajot/gifts).



> Hey y'all! Here's to fic #2, which was really supposed to be a drabble in response to the prompt “I’m much taller than you but you have the locker above my mine. Now I have to awkwardly crouch underneath you twice a day and I almost headbutted you in the crotch, I’m sorry” and then it got away from me. C'est la vie, I suppose. Love and thanks to Maddie; you're a blessing, sweet pea.
> 
> Let's get this fucking party started!

Arin kind of fucking hates the gym. He really only started going because a friend gave him a year’s membership with a pointed remark about exercise and he was fucking tired of her bugging him. (He’s starting to think he might need some better friends.) It’s either too warm or too fucking cold, all the equipment stinks like someone sharted on a skunk, and there’s always all these people around who are clearly better at exercising than he is. It sucks big sweaty balls—another reason to hate the gym. He’s pretty sure you could drown a cat in how much he sweated today.

Of course, there’s plenty of reasons to go to the gym: being healthy, getting in shape, the really cute girl who’s usually on the treadmills by the weights when he’s here, y’know. The usual reasons. Not that he’s one of those creeps who goes to the gym just to ogle girls! But the locker rooms are co-ed—because it’s fucking Los Angeles and they’re a hippie, go with the flow establishment—and her locker is right above his.

(Another reason to hate the gym: they fucking assigned him a locker. And, they gave Arin, six foot two Arin Hanson, a bottom locker. Fuck the gym.)

So, the first time Arin came in, he was putting all his crap in his locker just as Suzy, the cute girl, was leaving. He was really not looking forward to exercising around other people, especially after the dude with white-guy dreads at the front desk started telling him everything that was wrong with his “alignment” while he was trying to sign in. So he was already in a bad mood, scowling at everything and swearing at his locker, trying to get the key to turn so he could put his stuff away.

“You’ve got to push in on the door and jiggle the key to get it open,” a voice behind him said. “The lockers here are kind of shitty.”

He turned around to see a pale woman with a tattoo sleeve and dark hair, wet from a shower, hanging around her shoulders. She was also wearing nothing but a towel; he caught himself looking down at her legs before realizing, wait, shit, she’s talking to him.

“Can I…?” She moved towards him, and he managed to shift out of the way. She knelt down in front of his locker and slammed her shoulder into the door, twisting the key at the same time, all while holding on to her towel. The lock clicked, and when she moved away the door swung open with a screech.

“Thanks,” he said, after his brain caught up with the situation. “I’m Arin.”

“Suzy. Nice to meet you!” She gave him a wide smile and offered a hand, which he took. She smelled like roses and lavender, which was adorable and really not helpful. She bit her lip, before saying, “If you need any more help, I’m usually here about now. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” he said, smiling back. Her eyes are green, he noticed. Then he realized he was still holding her hand and let go with an awkward huff. “I actually was wondering if they’ve got water bottles somewhere? I forgot mine today. Rookie mistake, I know,” he said, with a self-deprecating grin.

She laughed, sweet and clear as a bell. “We’ve all been there, don’t worry. There’s a vending machine at the end of the hall.” Her phone beeped from inside her locker, and she seemed to realize that she’s just wearing a towel.

“Oh, shit,” Arin said, “sorry, let me get out of your way.” He shoved all his crap into his now-open locker and grabbed his workout clothes to change into. “It was really nice meeting you,” he added, and ducked away to one of the changing areas.

“You too!” she called after him.

Well, that could’ve gone better, he thought. Nice job, Hanson. He buried his face in his hands and then got changed. He let the thought of Suzy’s smile carry him through the sweating and the wheezing of the next two hours.

Arin sees Suzy most days he goes to the gym. They exchange nods or say hello and talk about the weather when they see each other (that is, when Arin’s not struggling for air under a barbell or sucking down water like a freaking vacuum. Fuck. The. Gym.)

She’s kind of the best thing about it, mostly because she's radiantly beautiful in a way that really shouldn’t be possible while working out—and her sneakers have little bats on them!—but also because she only ever looks at him like he’s a regular person. He gets his fair share of dickweeds giving him looks, even though half the people looking at him aren’t hot shit, either—and he knows, objectively, that he’s not really that out of shape, and that it shouldn’t matter, no matter how much those looks make his stomach twist—but Suzy just grins at him when he comes out of the locker room, and gives him a thumbs-up from the treadmills when he finishes a set.

She does occasionally get guys hitting on her, which—seriously, who hits on someone at the gym? The way she politely shuts them down, and then not-so-politely tells them to fuck off when they don’t get the point, makes him wary of saying anything to her about a date. It’s a dick move. She’s not here to get hit on, he tells himself, because he’s not going to be that dick. (And if he has to remind himself what a dick move it is whenever she smiles at him, well—that’s his fucking problem, not hers.)

Usually, she gets there before he does, and finishes up before him, so after his workout, she’s pulling her stuff out of her locker, post-shower, right as he goes to get his shower crap. Seeing her smiling and happy after her shower, hair up in a ponytail and wearing a cute shirt with a cat on it, is the highlight of his day. (Of course, he’s about as gross as the creature from the Black Lagoon at that point.)

Today, however, Arin has a blind date, which means he needs to get home and snuggle Mochi for half an hour to prepare for the ordeal. (And like, pick out clothes and shit. But mostly it’s Mochi time. Blind dates are just under the gym in terms of things he hates, and this one won’t have a Suzy attached to it.) Ross arranged it, said that Holly had a friend who she thought would get along with him really well, so Arin agreed, mostly because he couldn’t offer up a strong reason not to without giving up his stupid crush on Suzy. And he’s not letting the date be an excuse to skip the gym because even though it sucks being there, he knows he feels better afterward. Endorphins and shit, or whatever. So he begs his boss to let him leave work an hour early and treks over to sweat through another round of weights and some cardio. And maybe he spends a little longer than he needs to with the weights, but it’s not because he’s nervous, okay? He was just feeling like pushing himself today.

He finally sets down the barbell and goes about putting the weights back on the rack, letting his eyes wander over to Suzy, who’s jamming out on the treadmill, bopping her head and moving her arms to her music a little, ponytail swinging with each step. Her tattoos catch the light and shine a little. He admires the design—and the pain that must’ve gone into them. He’s got his hair tied back today, but some of it is escaping into his eyes, so he blows it out of the way and takes a slug from his water bottle, before pouring some of it on his head and sighing as it trickles down his scalp to his shoulders.

He hears a thump and turns to see Suzy stumble a little on the treadmill, before regaining her balance and giving him a sheepish grin. He smiles back and waves, like a fucking dork, but her grin turns happy and bright, so he considers it a win. And now, off to shower. He’s looking forward to washing off the sweat (even if the shower heads here aren’t high enough and he keeps almost hitting his head. Fucking gym.)

He takes his time, lathering his hair with the good shampoo—because fuck it, he wants to smell nice today!—and letting the water help his shoulders relax. For a minute he thinks about jerking off, just to let off some steam, but the idea of doing that in a public shower skeeves him out. God, now he’s thinking about all the people who might have jerked off in here before. He should have brought shower shoes, dammit. He quickly rinses and conditions his hair, scrubs himself down, and gets the hell out of that shower.

He wraps his towel around his waist and realizes he left his clothes in the locker, so he haphazardly ties his wet hair back from his face and kneels down between the lockers and the bench to dig through his bag. Underwear, socks, shirt, pants. He turns away from the locker to stand up and BAM! He slams into someone, his head colliding with what feels like a pelvis.

He drops his clothes and rocks backward, keeping to his feet only barely.

“Shit,” he moans, his heat smarting. He manages to keep hold of his towel and looks up to see Suzy, knocked into a seated position on the bench, her water bottle fallen to the ground next to her. She looks…amused?

“Are you okay?” she asks, and yep, there’s definitely a laugh in her voice, which is good because it means he didn’t hurt her, and bad because he absolutely just made a fool of himself. Arin “Dumpster-fire” Hanson, he thinks, but he gives her a weak smile and with his free hand rubs at the sore spot on his head.

“Yeah, totally fine. You ok?” he says, though he thinks there’s not much to worry about. She nods and cocks her head sideways at him, eyes flicking down to his chest for a moment. “Sorry for, uh, headbutting you. Didn’t see you come in.”

“Don’t worry about it. No harm, no foul, right?"

He gives an awkward laugh and tries not to blush. Maybe the heat from the shower stayed long enough to keep him pink all over, and she won’t notice. Then he realizes he’s not wearing a shirt, or anything other than a gym towel, and starts.

“Shit!” He reaches down to gather up his clothes, which are already damp from the water he dripped onto the floor. “Sorry, let me just—I’ll just—“ and he maneuvers his way out from in front of the locker and flees back to the changing room stalls. He managed to drop his socks along the way, but at this point, he’s just glad he didn’t lose his towel in the scramble. God, what a fucking dumbass. He’d bang his head on the wall, but she might hear him and that would be worse.

He yanks on his underwear and his pants and rolls on deodorant before pulling his shirt over his head, hurries back out to the lockers once he’s sure she’s in the shower, and grabs the rest of his shit. Then he leaves as fast as he can. Nothing in the world sounds better than grabbing Mochi and snuggling the shit out of him, and yeah, it’s official, he’s a crazy cat lady. He better find Mochi a friend soon, because that’s clearly his future.

Once he gets home, he almost bails on the blind date, but he decides that if bad shit is going to happen, he deserves to have some good food. They’re going for sushi—his date’s choice, which would bode well except clearly Arin’s been cursed by a witch, and nothing is going well today. So he pulls on a pair of jeans, even though he doesn’t like wearing them, and blow-dries his hair. Maybe his date will want to pet his shining mane and disregard everything else about him. Then he grabs a blazer from his closet and puts in on over his t-shirt, and gives Mochi another hug. Cat hair is worth the comfort.

When he gets to the restaurant, he’s running a few minutes late; luckily there’s a parking spot right up front and the drizzling, which has been happening all day, stops long enough for him to get inside. He refuses to take this as a good sign. There must be something really fucking sucky coming up, he thinks, and he still brings his umbrella into the restaurant. Worst comes to worst, if zombies come stumbling out of the kitchen, he’ll be armed.

Inside, the place is pretty small and dimly lit—the hostess is away from the hostess stand, so he squints around in the dark, trying to see where his date might be.  
“Arin?” The voice, soft and clear as a bell, comes from a table half-tucked into a nook in a corner.

He freezes. Fuck, it can’t be. He turns slowly to see Suzy, wearing a black dress and a delighted smile.

“Fancy seeing you here! And with all your clothes on, this time.” Her smile turns teasing at this, and she quickly glances down at his body.

He looks down at his clothes, checking for cat hair, and surreptitiously brushes his shirt off before walking over.

“It’s nice to see you outside of the gym,” she says.

“It is nice,” he says, though the words feel a little rough coming out. He sits down across from her and puts his napkin in his lap. “Sorry to keep you waiting—I was, uh…” He looks up at her from where he’d been looking at the table, at the kindness in her eyes, and decides that there’s not much more he can do to ruin things, so he goes with the truth. “I was nervous. So I ended up snuggling my cat for longer than I probably should have.”

Her eyebrows twitch together slightly, in what looks more like confusion than anything, but she just says, “Aww, what kind of cat do you have?”

“He’s a Napoleon Munchkin-ragdoll mix, I think? Very fluffy.” He gestures down at the cat hair still clinging to him. “I have photos if you want to see?”

“Of course I want to see your adorable cat!” She makes grabby hands until he passes over his phone. Yes, Mochi is his lock screen; sue him, his cat is cute.

“He’s about five now—he’ll be the king of the cat collection once my crazy cat lady certification comes in the mail.”

Suzy laughs. “He looks like my cat, Mimi. She’s still a baby, though, she’s only two.”

“Ah, the terrible twos,” he intones, before realizing, “Wait, you know Holly?”

She nods. “Yeah, we’ve been friends for years. I made her that cat’s eye pendant she wears.” That necklace is one of Holly’s favorites, almost always hanging around her neck. “We started doing witchcraft stuff together back in high school, so it’s kind of a remembrance thing."

Arin blinks. “Witchcraft?” When she frowns slightly, he adds, “Whatever makes you happy, I’m just curious,” and she relaxes a little.

She ends up going off on a tangent about some spells they fucked around with in high school, telling the story of her and Holly sneaking into a graveyard with a bottle of horrible peach schnapps and some candles, only to be chased by a pissed-off gravedigger—Suzy got caught on a wire fence in the getaway, and she pulls up her dress a little so he can see the scar running along her thigh. Arin tries not to let his eyes linger on the pale skin there, tries to keep his mind away from wondering if she’s that pale everywhere, but when he looks back up at her, she looks…hesitant, almost, like she’s waiting for him to react.

“Holy shit,” he says, after maybe a beat too many. “That’s pretty wicked. I never got anything like that, but one time, me and Ross were visiting my uncle…” And Arin launches into one of his favorite stories about him and Ross being little shit-kickers, stealing peaches from his neighbor’s orchard, eating them and then throwing the pits at each other, until Ross, dumbass he is, misses Arin with the peach pit and knocks a tin can off the fence with a clang. Suddenly the neighbor’s huge, toothy dog is tearing out into the yard after them, and they’re racing for the fence, and just as it looks like they’re going to make it the dog sinks those big fuck-off teeth into Ross’ calf.

“Twelve stitches, and his parents didn’t let him come back to the States for two years,” Arin says, to Suzy’s wide eyes. “Of course, the day he’s finally back, he’s all”—he does his best Ross accent—"‘let’s go steal some fuckin’ peaches!’ Little shit.” He rolls his eyes fondly. “Of course we totally went and fucking ransacked that orchard, every day for a week. We were total idiots."

“You two are really close. It’s sweet to see you talk about him.” Arin can’t place her tone, but her soft smile makes his heart feel funny until—“That’s nothing, though.” She raises an eyebrow, and the look on her face makes him glad there’s a table between them. “If we’re talking in terms of stupidest stunt, me and Holly…”

And they’re off, swapping stories of shit they’ve pulled over the years, eventually branching out to talking about family, friends, history. It helps that they got the basic introductions out of the way before and that they both know Ross and Holly; Arin’s amazed that he didn’t meet her through them before this. He learns that she’s, unfortunately, working retail to support her art—jewelry and taxidermy, which is freaky but cool, especially when he sees the real butterfly wing in her necklace—and she moved to LA after middle school from Orlando. They share a minute of Florida commiseration: the drier air here is much better for her hair, Suzy says, and Arin agrees. The frizz was fucking terrible. Y’know, along with the hurricanes and shit.

Sometime in the middle of the whirlwind discussion, they ordered their food and when it arrives, Arin’s shocked to see it. He almost forgot it was coming—and he ordered a red dragon roll, it takes a lot to make him forget that. He and Suzy both dig in like fucking wolves. He didn’t have anything to eat post-workout, and he doubts she did either. They make all of it disappear in like ten minutes, and then they just sit for a minute.

“Fuck, that was a lot of food,” Arin says. He can feel his stomach protesting the speed of the food entering it, but he’ll live. He survived Ross’ attempts at making quiche, he can survive this.

Suzy burps and then says, “Shit, whoops,” her cheeks turning pink.

Arin snorts, and then unleashes one of the most epic burps he has ever produced. Suzy goes wide-eyed and then cracks up laughing.

“God, that was like watching a balloon deflate! It just went on and on!” she gasps, between laughs. He chuckles along with her, glad she wasn’t grossed out.

Arin’s been pleasantly surprised by this whole date, in fact. The couple blind dates he’d been on in the past had been colossal shit-storms, either just by accident or by people being complete douchebags. And Suzy’s been having a good time too, he thinks, judging by her laughter, which is a fucking shock.

Still, he’s not sure how to bring up that he has a (big) crush on her when things seem more platonic than anything at this point. He’s not really getting a vibe from her that she wants to be more than friends. Which is great! Suzy’s super awesome, he’d love to be friends with her. He just also wants to, like, kiss the fuck out of her. So at the end of dinner, he offers to walk her to her car. She takes him up on it with a smile, and they leave into the clean air, the post-rain atmosphere filled with crickets singing.

Suzy bumps her shoulder into his. “What are you thinking about?”

“Just how awesome this night was,” he says. “I can’t believe you and I weren’t friends before this.”

Something closes in her face, though she keeps her smile on, and she looks away.

“Guess these things just kind of happen that way…hey, what’s going on?” He sees the way she’s very carefully staring at a stop sign on the end of the block. “Did I say something wrong?” His stomach plummets down to his shoes. Fuck, of course he screwed it up, now Suzy’s never going to talk to him again and he’ll have to suffer at the fucking gym alone and he probably can’t ever talk to Holly or Ross again and at this point he might as well move to cold-as-balls Siberia for all the good being around people is doing—

Suzy’s voice interrupts his train of thought. “…coming on too strong, you could have just told me. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—“

“I’m sorry, what?”

Arin could swear she turns a little pink, though the streetlights make it hard to tell.

“I just—I’m sorry if I came on too strong. I know you didn’t really expect to go on a date with me, so I get it that you just want to be friends. I didn’t want to make it weird.” She’s still not really looking at him, more glancing his way out of the corner of her eye. Her fingers twitch towards one of the silver rings on her left hand.

“Wait, you think I didn’t want to go on a date with you?” He stops walking and turns to look at her.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I kind of have a thing for you? I’ve been pretty obvious about it. And you never really gave any indication that you were, y’know, into me. So I figured it was one-sided?” She’s looking at him head-on now, face tight with confusion.

Meanwhile, Arin’s pretty sure he got hit on the head because there’s no way this is happening.

“Which is totally okay! You’re a great guy, I think we’ll be great friends.” She’s trying so hard to be genuine, but he can see the way her smile goes flat. It’s kind of the worst thing ever. He never wants to see her fake a smile again.

“Yeah, no, I’m definitely into you,” he says, not even really thinking about it. He just wants her to stop looking so sad. “I’ve been trying super hard not to be a creep about it, considering the awful dudes who usually hit on you at the gym.”

She laughs a little, a noise of happy surprise. “Oh. You really don’t have to worry about that.” She pauses. “Um, can I..?” She gestures to his face.

He says, “Yeah, totally,” without realizing what she means, until she leans up on tip-toe and gently kisses him.

“I kind of super like you,” she says as she pulls away, “so…yeah.”

He can feel himself blush, and he grabs her hand, buying time to remember how words work.

“Uhh, same,” is what he comes up with, which, smooth, Hanson.

She laughs again, a sound that he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop loving. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, because apparently he’s allowed to do that now, and ends up cupping her face gently with his free hand. She tilts her head and presses a kiss to his palm. Then she pulls him in for another kiss, and he’s sure nothing’s going to be the same ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I tumble at [donnatellamoss.](https://donnatellamoss.tumblr.com/) Come say hello if you want.


End file.
